With a Flick of My Wings
by fairydust.silverhook
Summary: Felicity, Zeph and the Other One find themselves in Disneyland. Both literally and metaphorically. Oh, and we mean the real Disneyland, not that half-rate theme park place that everyone talks about. The real Disneyland rides are MUCH wilder.


You know what I think? Well, of course not. If you did then I wouldn't have to tell you. But you don't know therefore I do have to tell you. So I will.  
I think the world would be a much better place if people stopped calling me Flick.

My name is _Felicity_. Say it with me, guys, Feh-_liss_-ih-_tee_. _Not_ 'Lyssie'. _Not_ 'City' - although I wouldn't mind being called City, it's a pretty cute name after all. And most _definitely _not Flick!  
Not that anyone cares.

I'm Felicity Meadows. Everyone calls me Flick - much to my displeasure. I tell them again and again and _again_ to quit it with the Flick-thing - but do they listen? Do they hell… Sure, they apologise and promise not to call me it - then five seconds later they're at it again.  
It's enough to make a girl weep.

Anyway, back to the main point. I'm Felicity Meadows; I'm sixteen (verging on seventeen - only two months to go!) and kind of a bitch. Hey, at least I can admit it! I've got nothing to do with this namby-pamby going-around-pretending-to-be-nice-while-really-snarking-at-people-behind-their-backs-thing. Oh, no. When I make a remark about someone - and that is quite a common occurrence - I'll do it to their face. Otherwise how will they know what a good insult it was?

So yeah. I'm kind of a bitch. I'm also a Professional Daydreamer and Natural Genius - but that's another story entirely. No, seriously, it is. I'd tell it to you at the moment but it'd be kind of awkward as it's kind of got all sorts of freaky thing in it , you know the sort - revenge-intent teapots, insanely perverted musical instruments, a language made up entirely of finger-snapping, a thousand or so giant spiders.

Ok, so the last one was from a bedtime story I made up for my baby cousin. But the principle is the same. Besides, giant spiders are really not all the bad when you get to know them. Apart from the fact that they want to slurp down your blood and chomp on your heart. But, hey, everyone has their flaws!

Where was I…? Oh yeah, the whole 'explain my gorgeously desirable and insanely awesome persona to the masses' shebang.

Well, I'm fabulous, fantastic, flippin' stunning, funny and a whole range of other words beginning with 'f'. Also, if some little word crossed your mind just now then don't say it. Chances are there is a teacher/parent/some-other-adult-type-person-with-no-sense-of-adventure-or-hilarity behind you. Or else there'll be a little kid in the room.  
Trust me on this one.

Don't you hate it when that happens? You've got yourself all keyed up for a killer time of bitching, swearing, making way too many sexual references and generally being ridiculously immature - and then some killjoy grown-up-type-person just comes in and is all 'you kids are so ridiculously immature! Why, when I was your age…' and, from then on, you know - just _know_ - it's going to be Yawn-city.

It's a pack of lies, anyway. You know, the whole when-I-was-your-age-yadda-yadda-yadda-thing? Yeah, complete and utter falsities.  
Adults were _never_ your age. No, really, it's true! They just say they were because they think it makes them sound more 'relatable'. Oh, please! A plastic bag is more relatable than an adult. I've often felt like a plastic bag, drifting through the wind, wanting to start again! Ok, scratch that. I've _never_ felt like a plastic bag. How do plastic bags even feel? How can they 'want to start again'? What was the first thing they started? Why am I even asking?

But you get what I mean. Adults are not relatable. They are evil evil-thingies, hell-bent on making us innocent fun-loving little darlings into mindless copies of themselves!  
Or something. What was I talking about, again?

Oh _right._ Me. Felicity. Not Flick. Aged sixteen (only two months to go!). Kind of a bitch. Load of f-words (gigglegigglesnortsnort). Not a plastic bag.  
That pretty much sums me up. Not much else to say, really. So yeah…

Well, this is awkward.

So what now? I can't just sit around all day, staring at blotches on the wall. Ooh that one looks like a spider! Oh my gawsh, it_ is _a spider! It's going to eat me! It's going to slurp down my blood and chomp on my heart! PANIC ATTACK!

Ok, so that never happened. I made it up out of sheer boredom. Are you disappointed? Did you want me to get eaten by one of my giant spiders?  
You absolute git.

So then… oh, right! The plot! Well, the thing is… this is my story. Well, I guess that was kind of obvious by now. But seriously, this _is_ my story. I just said that, didn't I? Well, now I've said it again. Deal with it.  
So. Yeah. My story. Right…

This is my story and Zeph's story and possibly Jay's story too (but only if he's nice to me and stops putting spiders in my bed). It's a story of how the aforementioned three people went to Disneyland - the _real_ Disneyland, not the theme park (although I did visit that when I was fourteen) - and had a few really crazy messed-up horrifyingly-scary adventures. It was fun.

But first off I guess I'd better you about Zeph and Jay.

Jay and I have been sort-of friends from _waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay_ back. One of my first memories is of me hitting Jay over the head with a wooden sword because he'd ripped one of the arms of off my Cinderella doll. I wasn't upset that the arm was off - it was just that _I'd _wanted to be the one tear off the second arm (the first had been detached about three days earlier in an incident involving a washing machine, a roller skate, a length of string, two kittens and yours truly). It was my doll, after all.  
I say 'sort-of friends' because Jay's kind of a git. But, as previously mentioned (numerous times) I'm kind of a bitch. Unfortunately, this means that, although we find each other hilariously amusing, we kind of hate each other. Just a little. Nothing major.

Zeph's kind of the new kid in our 'group' (I want to say to say 'gang' but that'd get me labelled as a wannabe gangsta and I can't afford that kind of bad publicity). He's only been around for two or three years. Not long at all. His full name is Zephyr, he's insanely tall and he has an absolutely adorable way of ducking his head when he's embarrassed. He's shy and sensitive and prefers reading to football.  
Jay and I spend a lot of our free time taking the piss out of him.  
But we mean it affectionately. And Zeph knows that. 'Course he does. Everyone knows that so Zeph id bound to. He totally knows. Doesn't he? I hope so. Maybe he doesn't. It would majorly suck if he thought we were bullying him. We really _do_ mean it in the most loving caring way.  
I'll tell him so at the next opportunity!  
Right.

So that's our gang. Yo! Fo' shizzle!  
Sorry, sorry, sorry…

And this is how The Event happened.


End file.
